Subject: I'm Sorry
Date: Sep 21 2005 7:58PM
I'm sorry I was such a poor husband. I'm sorry I was a father who missed birthdays, recitals, picnics, and family get togethers. I'm sorry I often came home from work so late you were asleep. I'm sorry I thought my work, my career, my research and my colleagues were what was important. I'm sorry you're in London and I'm here. I'm so, so sorry I gave you a check on your last birthday. I'm sorry we never took salsa lessons, as you begged me to do. I'm sorry that you can't see me now, dancing awkwardly. I'm sorry I posted on this effing forum so much, wasting time at work, when I could have come home earlier. I'm sorry I thought money could solve our problems. I'm sorry I live in this house, alone, and I can't get myself to sell it.
I took my first vacation in four years. I went to Cambridge, to visit friends, lounge around and do nothing, pet dogs in parks, drink excellent tea, and generally found myself even enjoying the daily cloudy weather. I no longer post on this forum. In my free time, in between experiments, I'm trying to be friendlier. I'm getting out of the lab, talking to others -- as you wanted me to do for years. I've discovered that kindness is primarily what I seek, from my students, lovers, and even from my parents.
My parents have decided to retire to the UK. They've bought a house on the coast. They want me to visit, but I keep telling them that I don't have the time. I've started to think what would happen if they were to die. Would I miss my father, as I now miss you? I know I'll miss mom. She stills subscribes to the journals. When she sees an interesting paper, she calls me -- with her cell phone! -- to ask me if I'd have a chance to read it. You, however, were right. They do hate each other. I'm sure mom would have been much happier if they had divorced.
I'm going on a date next week. She teaches science writing and has a daughter, about Sophie's age. She has the look that mom always liked, red hair, freckles, and bright blue eyes. She answered my personal on Craig's List. I like her. She seems different from the other women I've met.
I know you won't see this. I know you haven't posted here in years, but I can't send this to you. I can't. I know how happy you are with Muhammed. When you told me that this was the first time you were in love, I cried. Not because of jealousy (really, it's not) it's because it's simply tragic that we kept ourselves from happiness.
I started therapy two weeks ago. The therapist hasn't given a good impression. She's only asked questions, and admittedly, I don't understand how she intends to help if I don't understand what the purpose of asking so many tangential questions is. It's frustrating.
My students, as always, are wonderful. I have an Italian-American graduate student from Brooklyn. He's so good-looking! He looks like Johnny Depp. The women, and some of the men, have become smitten. He's also kind, but his work is lazy and his research methods poor. I'm trying to be as patient and gentle as I can (really, I wish you could see me).
I have to go. I haven't been sleeping well. I get up in the middle of the night, to read your emails. Sweetie, I miss you. Early next year, I think I'll go to Cambridge again. If you'd like, I can visit. I'd also very much like to attend your wedding.
By the way, Keshav has grown two inches this year. He's now about 6'1". Unfortunately, he hunches over badly and seems overwhelmed with his new body. I'll send you a photograph tomorrow.